


Any Port in a Storm

by fluffybunnybadass



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: CW: Death, CW: grief, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Parent Death, Strained family relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 20:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30094542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffybunnybadass/pseuds/fluffybunnybadass
Summary: The loss of a match has never stung deeply before; but is it really what’s causing all the pain behind Sarah’s terrible reaction to the loss at the first Pokemon World Tournament in Unova?
Kudos: 1





	Any Port in a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> CW: lots and lots of emotional venting; difficult family relationships; parental death implied or impending  
> \--  
> [ _Memories: Ramen_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29937165) is definitely a lite version of grief exploration; this is perhaps a medium-weight of it, slight leanings towards heavy. This takes place around... 2012 or 2013, whereas _Ramen_ takes place about a year or two later. The grief fic train does not stop today, folks.

**"And the winner is…!"**

Her eyes squeezed shut in frustration. Her fist clenched tight the Pokeball she had used to recall her last Pokemon with. The sound of the roaring stadium was deafened by her own emotions. Anger. Not at her loss-- not this loss, anyways. Hatred. At things, the world, everything that felt out of her control, despite her having the most control in her life yet. Was there a tinge of fear? Of the unknown, of the change yet to come? It didn't matter, not when there was so much turmoil to work through.

Rather than shake her opponent's hand, as she knew she ought to do as a sign of good sportsmanship, she turned from the battlefield and ran. Her heart pound as she feared the commentator might point it out, knowing her mistake the second her feet turned. Even her husband would have had a few words to say about it, she was sure.

Her sneakers echoed in the nearly empty hall. A three-way crossroads gave her pause as she struggled. She gritted her teeth and turned away from the direction of her dressing room, trying to find the most dead, out of the way, most overlooked and obscured corner that she could find-- and cried. She wanted to let it all out, the tipping point of her pain coming in the form of this loss at the first Pokemon World Tournament. But she knew that she would be found if she cried out loud. If she didn't try to stifle the screams and yell and pain she had to work through; had yet to work through. And then someone would come looking, and her spot would be found, and she'd have to start all over again the process of picking herself up, pretending to be invincible, infallible, incapable of being upset over something so _predictable_ …

She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, trying to use the pressure to calm herself, trying to dam up the tears that came out like stormy waters; every time there was a break, something surged, and it would all tumble over once more, capsizing her beneath its waves, leaving her struggling to breathe until the next--

"There you are."

The sound of another's voice caught her like a Deerling in headlights. She froze, panicked, unsure if it was safe anymore to cry as she pleased. Who was it, was it safe even if it was someone she knew?

She didn't move, didn't dare breathe, afraid of what this newcomer might think. But there was this gentle calmness that radiated from the person, even in her turmoiled state, and she glanced through her fingers which person it might be that had caught her like this.

_Ah_.

The unmistakable all-black outfit, the long blonde hair, the black ribbons shaped like a Lucario's feelers; hell, she should have known when she first heard her.

Her mind flashed back to all those other times Cynthia had seen her cry. How she thought she had come to show her a trainer who had grown past that, a person who was stronger than that. They were on the same level as Champions, and competing in the same event today.

_How embarrassing_.

Cynthia didn't say anything at first. She had to assess the situation, and determine the best course of action. Should she call Lance first, and let him know that she found her, or should she try to calm her down, and let him know once the younger adult was more emotionally stable?

If it were her… In either of those positions...

She grabbed her phone.

"Lance? I found her; I'll bring her to the room. Wait for us there, okay? … What?! Yes, _of course_ she's okay! Why would I-- I have to go. Bye."

She shook her head. Now that that lingering thought was out of the way, she could focus all her attention on her. She looked back at her friend, who looked more startled and scared than a frightened Whismur. But where to even start with all of this?

"Sarah? What happened out there?"

Cynthia took a soft step closer towards the other trainer, cautious, trying not to startle her younger friend into a panic. It was obvious enough that she was distraught about something else; and she hadn't heard of her taking a loss so badly in the time that she had known her.

Sarah shook her head and turned away, trying to inch herself into the corner further; complicated by the fact that she was not nearly as small as she felt right then, and she thus bumped into a handful of boxes, eliciting an angry cry of pain before it was cut off with a choked back wail, the cherry on top of a shit sundae.

Cynthia let out a sympathetic sigh and knelt down. She looked at her friend, grey eyes pained at the state she was in.

"Talk to me. Please?" But when she didn't respond, Cynthia tried again. "If not me, then please at least talk to your husband. Tell him whatever's going on. He's been worried about you for weeks."

That didn't seem to be the right thing to say, because Sarah kicked the nearest object in front of her foot and frowned like a petulant child.

"O...kay…. Did something happen between the two of you?"

Sarah gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the next wave of tears that threatened to drown her with the rest of her emotions. When the moment had passed long enough for her to shake her head, she finally spoke.

".....no."

"Then what's wrong? What's going on that you can't talk to Lance about?"

There was the sharp inhale and the wheeze of an attempt to speak. Sarah's hands shook as her eyes watered, face flushed with the overwhelming emotion, and the words took far more control than she felt they ever needed just to speak, as though each one was gutted from her, wrenched from the mess that she tried to strain through gritted teeth.

"...I… it's…" She shook her head and bit her lower lip to try and keep herself from crying out again. Cynthia instinctively moved closer, within close enough range that she could gently pull the younger adult towards her, arm wrapped around the shoulder as she tried to wait patiently for her to open up.

The kind gesture was more than enough to cause the dam to burst open again. Sarah turned her head and cried, harder than she had let herself before, screams partially muffled between each intake of breath as she cried into her friend's shoulder. The emotion that had been held back was so strong, such an intense force, that Cynthia nearly felt herself in tears, too, for her friend and the pain she was in, and how little it felt like she could do to help her overcome it. All she could do right now was hold her, and rub her back, trying to soothe the hurt as best as she could.

Minutes passed. The crying did not stop. Whatever it was, it was something Sarah had seriously been holding back from everyone. There was a buzzing in Cynthia's pocket, and she did her best to ignore it. She stroked Sarah's brown hair, still giving her calming hushes and doing what little she could to soothe her friend, until she could communicate without the flood of emotions getting in the way. How Cynthia's heart ached, knowing now that her friend was in so much pain, and had done her best to keep it from everyone. Albeit terribly, since the younger adult was never any good at suppressing their emotions, but if she was withdrawing from her _husband…_

The cries finally softened. Sarah hesitated, finally able to breathe. The storm that had capsized her was finally passing; but she knew many more were on the way. She took a few, shuddering breaths, trying to drink in the air that she had initially expelled more of, and coughing as she choked on it. Cynthia gave her a gentle smile, though unseen, and her hand stopped stroking Sarah's hair, coming to rest against her back.

"Are you okay, now?"

Sarah hesitated a moment, considering herself. Was she okay? Was it all passed, or would it come up again like a sneak attack, charging at her when she finally tried to talk about it? She didn't even want to talk to her husband about it; but considering how much he wanted to be there for her, lately always ready to drop things if she showed even the tiniest sign of needing him, perhaps that was why her reluctance to open up to him occurred. She needed space. She needed control. She needed everyone to stop demanding that she talk to them about whatever feelings she _must_ be going through, and that she _had_ to be in so much pain, and that she _had_ to be feeling this or that and _had_ to share it with them. That it must be _so hard_ for her to be losing her mother at this age, how she _must_ love her so much and be in _so much_ grief or else she wasn't a good daughter or didn't love her, and if she didn't love her, then she was a dishonorable, despisable person, that even she felt pressure from her _husband_ and _his family_ over the potential loss to come from her own. And Arceus forbid she tell them something like, "actually, I'm pretty okay with not having to deal with her ever again".

Ho-oh help her, she failed even her own morality check.

The thoughts only made her anger and frustration boil up inside. She gripped the back of Cynthia's coat, ready to scream again, this time out of hate at this whole stupid system of family roles & expectations. She felt she couldn't find a single reprieve from judgment, not from herself, or her husband, or any side of any family, because she all knew what each of them had to say about the way she truly felt, and how each of them had their own varying but similar degree of opinion on not caring much for your own mother, who was not particularly terrible or verbally or psychologically or physically abusive-- but one who sure never did enough to keep a divide from happening. Who never really got to know her own child--and whose fault was that, really? The mother's, or the child's? Certainly she had made efforts and opportunities for her mother to build a better presence in her life. And sure, she technically "lived" with her mother as a legal residence until she moved out here to Unova for better treatment, and Sarah had decided to stay in Johto, but between all the journeys she went on, the different regions she visited, she hadn't been home with her all that often. But that was fine, because the more times she tried to stay home, the more she had wanted to stay away, finding the road a far more welcoming home than one that hardly enriched her life.

And now that was all spiraling to an end, and it was too late to fix it. And even if she had wanted to, her pride wouldn't let her. If anything, she * _wanted_ * to tell her mother all the ways that she screwed things over with her. All the ways she failed her as a mother. But no, her family all suggested she try to do the polite thing and said, "let's not stress her out, it might be the last time you see her." As though being the one to outlive her death meant little when it came to your own feelings towards her. As though the feelings of the dead mattered more than the living's.

She let out a huffed, angry whine, hands gripping even tighter on Cynthia's coat-- until they finally stopped, all of the emotion finally making her spent. She slowly let go of the coat, and carefully pulled herself away, brushing back hair wet with tears and spit.

"I… Y-yeah." Sarah took a shaky breath, trying again to find some certainty that her energy had been spent. "I think… I think I'm good now…"

Cynthia brushed back strands of her blonde hair and took hold of one of Sarah's hands, giving it a strong squeeze. "Good. I'm glad to hear that." She gave her a smile; she hated not knowing specifically why her friend was in so much pain, but she could hazard a guess on the topicality of it.

Sarah tried to smile back. She rubbed her free hand against her eyes, trying to wipe away all of the tears.

"Augh. I'm so sorry, I'm always crying on you." She gave a hollow laugh, trying to lighten up the situation that her own mood had dampened.

"That's okay. I'm just glad to be a shoulder that you can cry on. Literally." Cynthia gave her a genuine laugh of her own, pointing at the spot her friend cried on and making a gentle joke about it, lightly teasing her about the amount of times she had cried there. She got up, holding out her hands to help Sarah up as well.

"At this point, I should probably be paying for it to be dry-cleaned," Sarah responded, a half-hearted joke.

Cynthia still held a warm smile at her friend, and, for a brief second, Sarah could believe that everything would be okay.

"I think we should go see your husband now. He's been blowing up my phone this entire time. Are you sure you're okay? It's fine, if you need another minute."

"Honestly? I feel like I need a few _years_ just to be okay again."

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help there."

"I know." Sarah took a deep breath, and let out a long, slow, heavy sigh, as though trying to exhale whatever lingering emotions she had. She took another minute, trying to compose herself, checking over her emotions once more to see that everything could fit within its shoved dresser drawers, and that none of it was threatening to spill out. Finally, she nodded.

"Yeah, okay. I'm good now. As good as I'll ever be, for now."

Cynthia took hold of Sarah's hand once more, giving it a tight squeeze, as she dug the trainer out of the corner she had buried herself into. She didn't let go, until Sarah abruptly shook her hand off as they went down the hall, trying to make herself seem dignified and self-sufficient once more.

  
  
  



End file.
